


of gods and fields

by TrashcanWithSprinkles



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Character Study, Contemplative, Dream SMP : The Pogtopia Resistance, Dream Smp, I don't know how to describe this, M/M, Short & Sweet, as are phil and calvin and most of the dream smp, dream is the god of the smp n techno plants potatoes, honestly tommy and wilbur are only reffered to, i think, i wrote this in the middle of the night in like two hours idk man, inspiration sure is a weird mistress, soft, that's it that's the fic i think, uhh what else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:42:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26930815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashcanWithSprinkles/pseuds/TrashcanWithSprinkles
Summary: In which Techno travels the world to help an old friend, and the local god pays him visits.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/Dave | Technoblade
Comments: 50
Kudos: 1168





	of gods and fields

**Author's Note:**

> hi yeah i'm back i'm the same fuck who wrote postmortal  
> now that things have calmed down a little in this tag and we can all agree to be as respectful as always until we get a clear cease and desist statement; have this fic
> 
> i hope you enjoy <3

The Nether portal made a strange noise, when he arrived. When he stepped onto the blackstone and basalt crater created around the large obsidian structure, and when the people running up the stairs with crossbows ready to fire halted in shock and fear.

He supposed he'd travelled too far, through the Nether alone. 

Then a horse made of bones was there to greet him, with the one who was to be his comrade from now on – a child he remembered from ages past when his armor was diamond-made and his home was the barren wastelands of the southern pole.

Then they fled, through the courtyard of an empty castle, hiding away from the people who'd watched him arrive to these lands.

The same lands he was now apparently banished from.

At the beginning Techno wasn't sure what he was there to do. He remembered hearing the call for help of an old friend. He remembered something or other about an unfair government, and how they were now exiles trying to take it down.

Admittedly, he might've spent too long traversing the Nether just to get there, so the details were unclear on his fleeting mind.

The child was eager to explain, as he always seemed to be, no matter the story they faced.

There was a kingdom ruling over most of these lands, whose king was crowned only after the war of independence of another nation – the very same his friend and the child helped create. But they were on the run now, and there were multiple friends and allies caught in the crossfire.

He didn't know.

He spent some time catching up with the armaments and technology of these lands, made sure he was ready for war at any minute, and proceeded to dedicate the rest of his time to providing food for the resistance.

That's what he'd say, if his old friend asked.

The truth was slightly different.

These lands had a god in them. An entity that appeared and disappeared, often taking the form of a man in forest green clothes and the strongest of armors. This was the entity from which the kingdom derived its name – the Dream Kingdom. The current king was chosen by the entity itself, prior to its more frequent disappearances, during the days it meddled in the wars of the people.

As a newcomer to these lands, and one arrived from far far away, Technoblade couldn't say he was all that surprised when the entity – when Dream – paid him a visit on the first night of his stay in the resistance's base.

To the naked eye, Dream appeared to be a man like any other.

But Technoblade knew. That was not the stance nor the presence of a common person. That was the Angel of Death without his wings, the Demigod in different armor.

That was Dream, the god of these lands, 

The Speed Hunter.

Dream pretended to be a simple human until the second Techno took his eyes off him.

Then he was gone. Vanished into the night.

And Techno returned inside the cave to continue working, paying him no mind.

The Speed Hunter made several other visits to the resistance – to Technoblade, to be more specific. He was the one who (accidentally) taught him the advancements of the people. How the armor had improved since the days of the Far Lands. How the fighting styles had changed from raw power of blitzkrieg to a more strategic approach.

Techno humored him by listening to his distracted rambles, taking mental note of all the information provided.

Some baked potatoes as parting gifts, for the (unknowingly useful) tips, and it led into a snowball of gifts from the Hunter.

Materials.

Valuables.

Sometimes he would slide a golden apple into his hands with a coy smile before disappearing, no longer waiting for him to turn, no longer pretending to be human.

Sometimes, when he left the cave to catch sunlight, flowers would've grown out of nowhere by the entrance.

Dream began appearing inside the cave, when the child and his old friend were out foraging in the wilderness or busy gathering materials. He would float around as Techno worked the soil, watching him push and pull the hoe, watching the muscles of his exposed arms tense with the effort. He would dangle golden apples in front of him, for Techno to pick as if he were a tree, and hum a soft unknown melody as he watched him bite into the fruit during his short breaks.

And his potatoes would give the most beautiful white flowers when he left. 

The child was excited to have the help of the Hunter, even if it was from the shadows, even if it came in the form of relic-like gifts from their old wars and words of encouragement in a book given for Techno to guard until the moment came.

And when it did, and the child and his friend quietly celebrated their new supporter, he looked at the golden apples and tried not to think they were for him.

It was strange, how politics worked in these lands. Innocent bakers caught in the crossfire of the controversies. Families torn and shattered with changes of allegiances. Spies, loose canons.

His friend, who had a son in these lands – a son who betrayed him, according to the child. Who wanted to take down the government from the inside, according to the King.

The child, whose friend was trapped in a forced spy position on a seat far too high for his young age.

The King himself, who confessed to him one evening while crossing kingdom lands how he betrayed for a reason – a reason his cracked voice didn't let him finish. How the baker knew, yet could do nothing about it.

It was strange.

Technoblade remembered when he, too, was once at the center of political messes. In days long gone of ferrying chickens across continents and trudging through layers upon layers of snow to get home. Of bridges and sand pits. Of the Angel of Death, right by his side, and his old friend leading his own nation much like he did now. Of the child, stirring chaos left and right, making the month-long nights bearable, if only to have a laugh at the expense of some idiots hitting each other with swords over some coal underground. Of the Moon and dragon eggs, of turtles and airstrikes.

But it was different. There were kingdoms, there were wars, yes,

But he was an Emperor. And when push came to shove, not even the gods of those lands were able to stop him from literally taking over the world.

For he was a god, too. Of a land far, far away. Of beautiful fields of hard work and dedication, and one or two bat-infested forests. 

What was he to do here? 

He was not the god of these lands, but that hadn't stopped him before. His old friend and the child were humans – they did not remember.

He was the Blood God. His specialty laid in ruining people's days and denying some rights to live. The resistance already had Dream on their side, so it wasn't raw power what they needed. This was a war he was unfamiliar with, one to be won through significant actions and words alone.

They did need help, that much was very clear. Having a god (or two) on your side didn't fix all problems. The thing was, the help they needed wasn't one Techno could provide. The political rabbit hole went down so deep his old friend was starting to lose his mind – and the child was desperately trying to keep all the pieces from falling apart.

All Technoblade had to offer was the same personality he'd been carrying his whole life, and a basket of baked potatoes. 

He wasn't sure it was enough.

It would come back to his mind, often, as he was tending to the fields. Coaxing horses into a safe spot for them to be in. Looking over his cows.

Dream began to notice – it was  _ that  _ bad.

But what else could he do? He'd been called to these lands to provide manpower and resources, and that's all he was doing. That's all he could do.

The child and his friend had to solve their problems first before he'd be able to do much else.

Dream seemed skeptical of the situation, and he couldn't blame him. He just continued to stubbornly work the soil and ignore the green gaze boring holes into his side.

The child woke him up one morning, frantic, saying this and that about the previous war and a fish and discs and whatnot. Techno wasn't sure. He only knew Dream was there to support the child, attempting to pass as human, as a small group of fully-geared up people approached from behind their tower.

Techno didn't know politics, he really didn't – and he wasn't terribly invested in the fate of things that were clearly leftover leverage from past conflicts.

He just knew he didn't like it, when one of the people shot the child on the shoulder. 

He didn't like it, so he took hold of his strongest weapon and disposed of them like it was the old days. Like it was back to the rule of striking first and striking fast, taking calculated hits if needed, and careening though rows and rows of opponents in a single spree. The quicker, the better. Giving them no time to breathe.

It was no wonder they didn't attempt it a second time.

Apparently, that was all the Hunter needed to realize Techno wasn't a human, like the unconscious child in his arms was.

Technoblade didn't float, as much as Dream insisted. Not all gods enjoyed hovering over the air. No, he'd much rather have his feet where they could touch the ground, lest he instinctively reach for a pearl to save himself from the abyss below.

The flowers continued to grow regardless.

Techno discovered he quite enjoyed speaking with the Hunter, now that they could both freely ramble about the many many lands they've visited before. Dream spoke of secrets and discoveries, of mysteries, of the several adventures with his friends that earned him the nickname he now carries. Of the joys of leaping through the air, of swinging from branches – moving faster than they can catch you.

Technoblade, in turn, spoke of wars and empires, of battles above the clouds, of falling into the nothingness for as long as one can remember. Of complete and absolute anarchy, of death tournaments, of potatoes on a small field.

And the tulips bloomed pink that morning.

It was difficult to tell, where it all began and where it all would end. If it started with a nether portal, or with a golden apple. If a stolen kiss could mark a beginning, even after all the shared glances and all the silent touches. If maybe it would end with a big explosion in the middle of a speech, or with a cried talk over the ruins of an effort to survive. Over trampled crops. 

The ending didn't really matter much, to him. Endings didn't really exist. They were just the start of another story, he'd learned, one he could go into alone and see familiar faces – or venture accompanied by a clingy man.

Maybe he could ask for an intermission, once this chapter was over. To return to his lands and tend to his fields and maybe let Dream fill his garden with flowers and apple trees.

Maybe.

Right now, the child was being loud, his friend was laughing at the kid's expense, and Dream was hovering around him growing flowers on his potatoes. 

And golden apples had never tasted better.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
